


A Long Stretch of Nothing

by sori



Category: Panic! at the Disco, bandslash - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-14
Updated: 2007-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:11:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sori/pseuds/sori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Do you have any wishes left, Spencer Smith?"  Brendon asks, picking another Dandelion from the grass and holding it out to Spencer.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Stretch of Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/63693.html#cutid1) at [](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/profile)[**we_are_cities**](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://zeplum.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://zeplum.livejournal.com/)**zeplum** for beta and hand holding duties. (And for helping to pimp me into the fandom in the first place. She's sort of awesomely evil like that. *hugs*)

Notes: Written for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/63693.html#cutid1) at [](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/profile)[**we_are_cities**](http://we-are-cities.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://zeplum.livejournal.com/profile)[**zeplum**](http://zeplum.livejournal.com/) for beta and hand holding duties. (And for helping to pimp me into the fandom in the first place. She's sort of awesomely evil like that. *hugs*)

Also, this is not real. :D

  
A Long Stretch of Nothing  
by Sori

 

The day starts with a blown radiator somewhere in the middle of a long Kansas nothing.

Ryan's saying it's serendipitous, something about the muse and inspiration and the beauty of solitude, but Spencer thinks it's mostly just a pain in the ass. Middle of nothing, with a tour bus that won't run and a support crew that left the last venue four hours before them. It doesn't really matter that the tow truck's already on the way and that the road crew's bus is heading back to pick them up.

Four hours is still a long fucking wait.

Especially when the only things around them are open fields, an empty road, and grass as far as the eye could see. That much green stretching out in all directions is just about the most unnatural thing in the world for a born Vegas boy.

Spencer steps off the bus, and at least it's the middle of the summer, the weather's mostly cool and there's a nice breeze blowing through the air. It feels good against his skin. He heads out to the grass off the side of the road, around the bus and fifty feet away, until he can barely hear Brendon and Jon's laughter echoing from the open windows.

He's spent the day, so far, trying to figure out how Kansas can look exactly like Illinois, and Indiana, and even parts of West Virginia. Like a whole lot of nothing has taken over the world, spreading its evil boredom far and wide. It'd probably make a pretty good horror movie, Spencer thinks, _Invasion of the Nothing_ maybe; people disappearing from the vast plains of Middle America, just up and gone, leaving behind trucker hats, and pieces of corn, and fields and fields of tall grass.

Actually, it sounds familiar, like maybe he's already seen that movie.

He lies back on the grass, his hands behind his head, and tries to remember every horror movie he's seen in his life. It's not like there's that many because he's not so much into body parts and gushing blood, but still, he can _feel_ it, scenes of the movie that are just out of reach of his brain, right there, fucking teasing him. It's irritating, and he scowls at the clouds because it's obviously their fault. Well, maybe the clouds or maybe just the stupid radiator's.

It's been one of those kinds of days.

He feels Brendon slide down onto the ground next to him, and it's _got_ to be Brendon because Spencer's got an elbow in his side and a foot slung across his knee and a scalding warmth on the entire side of his body where Brendon's lying, totally forgetting that there's anything called personal space.

"We're going to start thinking you don't like us, Spencer Smith. We're _missing_ you," Brendon says, the whine in his voice grating like fingernails on a chalkboard. But Spencer can practically feel Brendon's smile, all honest and simple, and just _there_ , like it pretty much always is when he slides into space next to Spencer.

"Have you ever seen a movie about Nothing taking over the world?" Spencer asks, shifting his knee out from under Brendon's leg, but leaving it close, touching knee to ankle. It's not like Brendon would actually let him move away; he'd just follow along, crowding even closer. Not that Spencer really wants to move.

The Nothingness will probably go ahead and eat Brendon first.

"Yeah, dude, don't you remember _The Neverending Story_? A huge nothing swallowing things up. With that kid and the horse and that swamp—the happiness sucking one," Brendon's turned toward Spencer and he's grinning, reaching out and wrapping a hand around Spencer's arm, and shuffling closer. "That swamp? Pure evil, no lie. And there was that princess, you've got to remember the princess."

Only Brendon could take a question about Nothingness and turn it into something. And maybe it's kind of cool that even when Spencer's thinking about the lamest things _ever,_ Brendon still thinks he's interesting. But Brendon thinks Disney's interesting so it's not like he's the most reliable source or anything.

"Hey," Spencer complains, grunting when Brendon rolls around, jabbing him hard in the side.

He blinks when something white and fuzzy is stuck in front of his eyes.

"Dandelion," Brendon says. "Blow."

And Spencer does, watching the little white flecks scatter around. There's nothing quite like the excitement of a rock star's afternoon.

"Did you make a wish?" Brendon asks.

Spencer shrugs. "What would I wish for?"

Sometimes, Spencer still can't wrap his head around the fact that this is his _fucking life_ , with their very own show, and groupies, and an album, and Ryan with _Pete Wentz_ on speed dial. And it's not like all that means anything, not really, except for how sometimes it sort of does, because they're young, and they're rich, and random people want to sleep with them all the time, when before, no one wanted to sleep with them at all.

"You're really kind of dumb," Brendon says and Spencer rolls his head to the side, looking over and watching Brendon scrunch up his eyes and pucker up his lips. Spencer wants to argue with him, because _so not dumb,_ but Brendon's ignoring him, instead just starting to breathe slow, panting little wisps of air at the Dandelion, blowing harder and faster until the Dandelion fluff is a tornado of fuzz around Brendon's head, landing in his hair, sticking to the tip of his nose, making him sneeze, once and then twice.

"I'm not dumb," Spencer finally says, trying to tramp down the smile as Brendon sneezes again.

"Sure you aren't," Brendon says happily. "So, don't you want to know what I wished for?"

"Doesn't that mean that it won't come true?"

"Well, duh. That's old school wishing. Haven't you heard?" Brendon laughs and shifts closer, all legs and elbows and shoulders, pushing in and moving in, until it feels like Spencer's all wrapped up-in-a-Brendon; doesn't matter that one whole side of his body should probably be feeling empty and alone and cold, but somehow doesn't. Brendon's warmth spreads out pretty well like that.

"Wishing is a very exact science, you know," Brendon continues seriously. "You shouldn't leave these things to chance."

Brendon reaches down and tugs on the bottom of Spencer's shirt. "Sit up, sit up, sit up. I have things to tell you," he says, pulling harder until Spencer doesn't have much of choice but to sit up, crossing his legs and staring at Brendon across the inches of space.

But Brendon's still not letting go of Spencer's shirt, he's just balling it up and dragging it higher, till his fingers can brush against the bare skin at Spencer's side, a fleeting, gentle touch that's so careful that Spencer thinks that if he wasn't so aware, of Brendon and Brendon's touch and the way Brendon's watching him, he wouldn't even be able to feel a thing.

Then between one touch of his fingers and the next, Brendon leans over and kisses Spencer. A quick brush of lips, a tiny taste of tongue against the corner of his mouth, and Spencer pulls back, opening his eyes wide, and Spencer's totally calm, he _is_ , because Brendon's kissed him before, a lot in fact; this is Brendon after all, but still. It's sort of different. Because Spencer's hands are shaking and Brendon's not moving away, not running off and laughing and tackling someone else. He's staying, sitting quietly like maybe there's not anywhere he wants to run off _to_.

And Spencer refuses to think too hard about that, or about the kiss, or the Dandelion fluff that's caught in Brendon's hair, or at Jon's voice hollering gleefully from across the field by the bus, "Two little lovebirds sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—."

"Okay, what was that?" Spencer finally asks when he can't take another second of Brendon's silence.

"That, Spencer Smith, was me, making my dream come true."

"That was your dream?" For a moment, Spencer thinks that as far as dreams go, a kiss is pretty lame, but Brendon's grin only stretches wider.

"It's one of the G-rated ones, at least. Most of them involve more nakedness, but I figured I'd start off with something small."

Spencer blinks and watches as Brendon leans in and brings his thumb up to rub softly against Spencer's bottom lip.

"You know that you're the biggest dork ever, right?" Spencer asks, opening his mouth and letting his tongue sneak out and steal a quick taste of Brendon's skin.

"Well, yeah. But I'm also the dork that just scored a kiss. So, really, being a dork? Not such a bad thing."

"True," Spencer says, reaching out and tugging Brendon closer by his hips.

"Do you have any wishes left, Spencer Smith?" Brendon asks, picking another Dandelion from the grass and holding it out to Spencer.

Brendon's wearing the same stupid smile that he always wears, happy and hopeful and sort of all-knowing that the world will work out just as he wants it, and Spencer realizes that maybe it always does. At least, enough of the time.

Definitely this time.

"Yeah, I think maybe I do," he says. He takes the Dandelion from Brendon's hand with a long, slow slide of tangled fingers, and then he closes his eyes, makes a wish, and blows.


End file.
